


Between Your Hips

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Barebacking, Body Worship, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Rimming, Schmoop, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4054447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For philosotease who asked for Zayn and Harry and a little body worship. All of their prompts were amazing and I just wish things had been different so I could write them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Your Hips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [philosotease](https://archiveofourown.org/users/philosotease/gifts).



> I'm very sorry this is so late. It is also pretty over the top schmoopy, which I hope is okay. 
> 
> Title from Love Me Harder by Arianna Grande because.

It’s not the first time Zayn’s been woken by Harry. 

Harry has the grace and coordination of a gorilla and doesn’t know how to do anything quietly. He’s even woken up once to Harry tripping drunkenly over his own feet and landing solidly on Zayn, loud enough to wake the neighbors who live above them.

It doesn’t help that their bedroom is roughly the width of their bed or that when Harry’s enthusiastic about something he’s clumsy in his excitement. 

Zayn comes awake slowly this time, pulled gently from sleep by Harry’s lips on his jaw and his fingers slipping beneath the hem of the jumper Zayn wore to bed. Their flat is cold even in the summer and in the middle of January they spend most of their time in layers of jumpers and hoodies, thick wool socks and blankets tucked around them. 

Harry’s fingertips are cool against his skin but his mouth is warm and Zayn’s tempted to feign sleep so Harry will keep going. 

He’s no good at being coy though and Harry lets out an amused little laugh and rubs his nose against Zayn’s cheek. “I know you’re awake,” he says, his voice full of fondness. 

Zayn’s lips curve in a smile and he opens his eyes to find Harry kneeling above him, hair in his face and cheeks pink from the cold. 

“Hi.” Zayn’s always a little disoriented when he’s waking up but he’s spent close to a month missing Harry and he feels a little raw, stripped bare with Harry kneeling above him looking exactly the way Zayn feels, overwhelmed, emotions heightened. 

It’s been three and a half weeks since he and Harry have been in the same place, since classes ended and they headed home to families and friends and the holidays. Harry looks like he always has with a change or two. His skin is darker, golden from the weeks spent in New Zealand. His hair’s a little shorter but still too long and falling in his eyes. He’s got a cut over his eyebrow from his misguided attempt to learn to surf and he’s wearing Zayn’s ring around his neck on a new chain. 

“You didn’t wait up for me,” Harry says, mouth pulled down, eyes big and wide. Zayn’s seen that work on just about everyone they know except for Niall who’s been immune to Harry since the night they met and Harry greeted him by puking all over his pristine white Supras. 

Zayn rolls his eyes and shifts out of his cozy sleep nest to push at Harry’s face, the sleeves of his hoodie covering his hands. 

“I did try,” Zayn says, going for contrite, but it dissolves immediately when Harry grabs his wrist and fits their fingers together, pieces of a puzzle locking into place. It’s so sweet, so _Harry_ and it’s too late or too early, too _something_ for Zayn to feel anything other than complete adoration. He gets undone by Harry at the oddest times. 

“You didn’t do a good job,” Harry tells him in what Zayn assumes is supposed to be a sullen pout. 

Zayn presses his mouth against Harry’s, lips parted slightly. He’d waited up until a little after one and a third text from Harry saying his flight had been delayed yet again. And then he’d given up and crawled into bed, arms wrapped around the pillow that smelled like Harry’s organic shampoo and his favorite cologne. 

Zayn pulls back to really look at Harry. The room is dark and Zayn can just barely make him out from the dim hallway light and the street lamps shining through the open curtains. He’s got shadows beneath his eyes, his cheeks pink from the cold, snowflakes melting in his hair. He smells a little stale from hours of traveling but familiar all the same. 

Harry gives him that sweet, soft-eyed smile that Zayn’s come to think of as _his_ and burrows his face in Zayn’s neck where he’s sleep warm. 

Zayn sits up and tugs Harry into his lap, kneeling between his thighs. 

Harry slumps down, shoulders hunched to make himself smaller, and kisses Zayn with the kind of enthusiasm that means he’s turned on and wanting to fuck, despite the late hour and the travel exhaustion. 

Zayn indulges him with a hand in his hair, fingers curled tight and possessive around the back of Harry’s neck. They hadn’t talked about it explicitly but there had been an unspoken agreement that after nearly two years of on again, off again, they were going into the holiday exclusive, no expectations of hookups and one night stands. 

Zayn trusts Harry but he’s never trusted his heart enough to give it away. 

Harry pulls back to catch his breath and nuzzles his nose along Zayn’s jawline where’s spent the last month growing a beard. “You smell good,” he mumbles and his voice drops lower, a seductive rhythm to it that he’s never had to work for. 

There’s something different right now and Zayn can’t tell if it’s the strange, magic in between hour or the three and a half weeks since they’ve seen each other, but his heart’s caught in his throat and there’s something a little needy and desperate about Harry. 

Zayn traces the shape of Harry’s cheek with his fingertips, down his jaw and tilts his chin up. “You alright?” 

Harry turns into Zayn’s touch and grazes his lips against the sensitive skin of his palm. “Mm, I really missed you,” he says and Zayn’s stomach drops down to his toes, a delicious thrill from Harry’s quiet little admission. 

“Do you want to have sex?” 

Zayn bites his lip to keep from laughing. Harry’s always so polite when he wants something, even with sex. Later, when he’s close to coming, Harry will turn it filthy and frantic until he’s begging and Zayn’s scrambling to keep up. 

“Yeah, babe,” he says because he always wants sex with Harry and it’s been too long without Harry in his bed, sleeping tangled around him and waking him with sweet sleepy blowjobs and lazy morning fucks with the sunlight warming them. 

Harry smiles against Zayn’s lips, pleased to get what he wanted. “Good, will you come shower with me?” 

Zayn does laugh then with his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. He’s a sucker for Harry and Harry knows how to work it to his advantage. 

The bed’s warm and Harry’s warm and sweet against him and the last thing Zayn wants is to give it up but there’s something to be said for Harry, wet and slick against him. 

* 

Harry likes the water at near scalding temperature and in less than a minute the tiny, narrow bathroom is filled with steam. Zayn brushes his teeth while Harry strips out of his travel clothes, boots and layers of socks and jumpers and scarfs littering the floor. 

Zayn turns to find Harry completely naked, his sun golden, not a single tan line on him anywhere. 

“Sunbathing naked, were you?” Zayn keeps his tone light but that little knot of Harry tinted jealousy that’s always lurking flares up a little.

Harry just flashes him a cheeky grin. “That’s how I like it,” he says and shimmies a little, chest first and his cock hard. He looks stupid and Zayn can’t believe this is who he loves. 

Like everything else in their flat, the shower is just barely wide enough for both of them but they make do like they always have and Zayn finds himself pressed up against the tiled shower wall, Harry’s fingertips sliding down his stomach and his mouth dotting kisses along his jawline. 

“I missed you,” Harry says with water in his eyes, pushing a thigh between Zayn’s. 

“Mm, you said that already, babe,” Zayn says fondly to hide the double-time beat of his pulse, to keep from admitting that he missed Harry just as much. 

They were the same height when they met, Harry just barely eighteen and Zayn a good two years older. So much has changed and yet, the things that matter are the same. Harry’s broad shouldered and thick, sturdy against Zayn when Zayn remembers Harry being smaller, more compact, less muscle and more baby fat. He loves this Harry as much, if not more, as he loved that other Harry, young and a little bumbling. 

Harry tangles his fingers in Zayn’s wet hair, long these days, and tilts his head back to suck a kiss just below Zayn’s jaw. Zayn lets out a quiet little gasp and hauls Harry closer with fingers digging into his hips. 

Harry’s cock is hard and slippery wet and Zayn surges up onto the balls of his feet to get a little friction on his own.

“You look really good,” Harry says, voice a little husky the way it gets when he’s turned on. 

Zayn’s never been one for having attention on him - he likes blending into the scenery mostly, but Harry’s attention has always gotten him so hard and Harry pinning him to the shower wall, looking at him like he’s never seen anything better, this has Zayn rock hard and a little disarmed. 

“I look the same as I always have, H,” Zayn says trying for levity to ease the tension between them. Fuck, they’ve always done this, gone from zero to sixty in ten seconds and Zayn’s trying to catch up. 

“Mm, maybe,” Harry rumbles, pushing his hips a little harder into Zyan’s, bumping him right up against the tile. He looks down the length of Zayn’s body, his inked skin and the definition of his stomach and chest that have changed in the last year since he started boxing again. 

“You’re so sexy.” Harry says it like he can’t believe it, like he’s surprised Zayn is his. Zayn’s used to feeling that way about Harry, especially these days when everyone’s stopping to stare at him. It’s nice to be on the receiving end of it when it’s Harry doing the staring. 

Harry kisses him with an open mouth, circling his hips and fucking his cock against the hollow of Zayn’s hip, the difference in height between them more noticeable like this. Zayn holds on with is nails pressing grooves into Harry’s skin and it just urges him on, the pain another one of those things about Harry Zayn doesn’t understand but loves. 

Zayn can’t quite catch his breath between Harry’s mouth on his, Harry’s weight keeping him pinned and the water falling down over them, getting in his mouth and up his nose. That last bit’s not the least bit sexy but the rest of it is so good Zayn thinks they could skip the fucking and he could come just like this. 

But Harry’s got his own agenda and he falls to the floor with an alarmingly loud thud and a little bit of an “oof.” 

Zayn leans his head back, eyes closed, and tries to steady his breathing. 

Harry’s a tease and he gets off on it, on getting Zayn worked up and then giving in just when Zayn’s aggravated and restless and hard. Harry’s teasing him now with his fingers sliding up the inside of Zayn’s thigh and his lips tracing the heart at Zayn’s hip. 

There’s usually more give and take between them but Harry seems intent on what he’s doing like he’s relearning Zayn’s body. 

It takes him a moment but he realizes Harry’s looking for the tattoo Zayn had told him he’d gotten at home in Bradford, a week into Christmas holiday and missing Harry badly enough to go and get something permanently inked into his skin that was for Harry only. 

“Harry,” Zayn says on a half laugh, half moan as Harry lifts one of Zayn’s legs and drapes it over his shoulder. 

“Hmm?” Harry’s got his nose pressed up against the crease of Zayn’s thigh and he looks perfectly content to stay there on his knees like he’s praying to an alter. The water falling down over his bronzed skin and his hand on his cock ruin the illusion but Zayn likes the feeling of being worshipped, a nice little turnabout when he’s used to feeling like he’s the one doing the exalting. 

Harry lets Zayn’s leg drop to the floor and turns him around to face the wall. Zayn feels only slightly ridiculous as Harry lavishes him with attention. 

Harry finds Zayn’s new tattoo at his hip just above the swell of his bum. Zayn’s resting his cheek against the tile and biting his lip as Harry traces it with the tip of one finger. It’s just a simple design, an H wrapped around a Z that Zayn’s sketched and re-sketched for the last few months while he thought about where to put it. It’s been a few days and the skin is still tender, not quite healed, but he imagines it looks better than it did when the ink was still fresh. 

“I can’t believe you did this,” Harry says almost to himself and it catches Zayn off guard because they’ve inked each other, silly little doodles with a tattoo gun Harry had somehow acquired, the two of them laughing as they permanently inked themselves into each other. But there’s awe and emotion in his voice, his touch gentle and reverent. 

Zayn swallows and can’t think of anything to say. They’ve been through enough for Zayn to know now that Harry’s who he wants and getting Harry tattooed on him is his way of saying it out loud even if the words don’t always come. 

Harry makes a choked sound, there’s a rustle of splashing water and Harry’s lips are on Zayn’s hip, mouth open like he’s trying to taste the ink. Zayn lets out a sharp, surprised breath and hits his forehead against the wall, trying to keep from slipping ruining the moment. 

“Harry,” he says suddenly, turning abruptly and pulling Harry to his feet. It’s too much, all of this, Harry’s attention on him and the memory of three weeks spent missing him. He doesn’t want to draw it out, he wants their bed and him on his hands and knees for Harry’s cock. 

Zayn kisses him, hard and inelegant, teeth clashing and noses bumping, water in their eyes and mouths and hands slip sliding over one another. 

*

Zayn fell in love with Harry the day they met but it was a year and two months later before he could put a name to it and here they are after three years of knowing each other and two of fucking around and pretending they weren't more and all he wants is to say the words out loud over and over again. For Harry, for himself, for everything they've been through since Harry was a gangly, over-eager eighteen year old. 

Zayn just wants to fuck. He wants Harry in him even though it’s been a while, making him work for it until he’s struggling to catch his breath and hard enough he could come with just the pressure of Harry against his prostate. 

Harry’s fucking around though. He pushed Zayn flat in the middle of their bed, barely dry and the air cool against his skin and Zayn’s got his thighs spread and Harry between them, dragging his lips over every inch of skin he can reach, making hungry little noises and lifting his head every now and then to shake his hair out of his eyes. 

Zayn's turned on, his cock hard up against his belly, his balls heavy between his thighs. More than being horny, he feels so full, right down in the pit of his stomach expanding outward like his heart's taken up his body. Harry’s single-minded, determined and Zayn’s got nothing to do but lie here and it feels strange to be focused on so intently. He’s used to it where Harry’s concerned but Harry’s never dragged it out like this. 

It's quiet, their little corner of the world, like they're the only two in it, the only ones that matter. It’s not that they’ve never done it this way just that he can’t remember the last time they went slow and made it last. Sex with Harry’s always good, even rushed; an exhausted blowjob before they fall asleep, a frantic handjob in the morning before running off to class, coming home to snog on the sofa and rub off against one another before one of them gets up to find something for dinner. He loves it all but he doesn’t remember it ever being quite like this.

Zayn’s seen Harry sick as a dog with the flu, red nosed and watery eyed. He’s seen him dressed in a tux for his mum’s wedding, in the smallest pair of red shorts on hot summer days in Holmes Chapel. He’s seen his best and his worst and all the little moments in between but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Harry look lovelier than he does right now.

His hair’s too long, falling in his face and clinging to the back of his neck and he’s flushed despite the chill outside and the snow falling. But he’s stunning in all his vulnerability, giving himself completely over to Zayn.

Harry drags his mouth over the tattoo on Zayn’s hip, the revolver he got in Leeds with Harry beside him and then afterwards carefully, gingerly rode Harry with Harry’s fingers pressing bruises into his thighs, his entire body one tender ache.

Zayn wants to wrap his fingers around his cock but he’s struck dumb by Harry’s determination to make him come apart with his lips and tongue.

Harry drags his tongue right up the sensitive skin underneath his arm where he’s just slightly ticklish. He doesn’t shy away from it, just licks Zayn’s underarm with the flat of his tongue and it’s all Zayn can do to keep from writhing off the bed.

It makes him flush, Harry’s mouth on him. He doesn’t know why, it seems silly given he’s had his tongue in Harry’s bum, Harry’s jizz in his throat, but somehow the press of Harry’s tongue to the soft underside of his arm makes him go hot everywhere, that odd mix of arousal and embarrassment that Harry’s always sparked in him.

Harry lifts his head, a little smile playing across his lips. “You taste good,” he says. His voice has always turned Zayn on, but when he’s horny his voice goes deeper, ragged at the edges and Zayn has always loved knowing Harry’s effected by him, even in the beginning when they were just fooling around occasionally.

Zayn turns his cheek into the pillow. He just _can’t_ with Harry sometimes, and this is one of those moments when he feels more vulnerable than ever, like Harry can see right into him, all the places he’s always been careful to keep to himself. 

Harry makes a rough sound, fingers in Zayn’s hair. It’s gentle but insistent when he turns Zayn to look at him. “Don’t,” Harry says, insistent and earnest. “Fuck, Zayn,” he says, shaking his hair out of his eyes and Zayn doesn’t know what Harry’s trying to say and maybe Harry doesn’t either because he holds Zayn still with fingers on his jaw and kisses him carefully. 

Harry’s eyes are bright when he pulls back and Zayn’s throat is tight and he thinks, what a pair they make, both of them stupidly incapable of just saying the damn words out loud. 

Harry gets to his knees between Zayn’s leg, one hand on his hip. “Turn around,” he urges, fingers tightening. 

Zayn’s face goes hot but he goes quickly to his stomach. He knows before it happens that he’s going to get Harry’s tongue in his bum and he does his best to keep from fucking the pillow Harry pushes under his hips. 

Harry doesn’t do anything for a moment and Zayn looks over his shoulder to find Harry on his knees, his hand on his cock and he’s just sitting there, a pained expression on his face like he’s trying not to come. It’s hot as hell. Zayn fucking loves the way Harry gets for him. 

Zayn rests his cheek on the pillow beneath him and closes his eyes. The first touch of Harry’s hand on his bum, spreading him open, makes him jerk in surprise. Harry shushes him and pets him clumsily and Zayn feels the sudden urge to laugh. 

And then Harry’s spreading him wide, big hands on his arse holding him open. The first touch of Harry’s tongue against him makes him shudder and the last thing on his mind is laughing. 

Harry always eats him out like he’s starving for it, hands spreading him wide and tongue flat. He never shies away from it, getting Zayn filthy wet and making these rough, hungry sounds that send sparks up his spine and down to his toes. It’s his favorite fucking thing, Harry’s mouth on him, Harry’s tongue fucking into him. Harry does it with he same enthusiasm that he sucks a dick with, noisy and eager. He gets his face right in between Zayn’s cheeks and his mouth pressed up tight against Zayn’s hole and all Zayn’s ever been able to do is hold on. He’s never had anyone eat him out as thoroughly as Harry. 

“Fuck,” Zayn breathes with his face buried in the pillow, trying to keep quiet. They have neighbors on all sides of their flat but even if they didn’t Zayn’s never been much of a talker in the bedroom. That’s Harry’s thing. 

Beneath him, his cock is painfully hard, pressed up against his belly between the mattress. He’s got no sense of preservation at this point. He doesn’t care what he looks like, fucking his cock against the bed and rocking his hips trying to get Harry’s tongue in him deep. 

“Harry,” Zayn breathes and he’s close to begging. They had a couple nights of rushed, embarrassed phone sex, both of them getting off hard but Zayn’s missed this more than anything, Harry’s mouth and hands on him, the reality of Harry in the bed they share and not the idea of him. 

“Don’t come,” Harry breathes out against Zayn’s skin, fingers squeezing Zayn’s arse just enough to bring him back from the edge. 

“Fuck,” Zayn groans and settles a little when Harry climbs up the bed and covers Zayn’s body with his own, his cock rubbing between Zayn's arse cheeks and his mouth hot against Zayn's cheek. 

"Can I fuck you?" Harry mumbles, breath warm on Zayn's skin and Zayn lets out a helpless little laugh at that. 

"Fuck, harry, yes,” he says and groans when Harry’s cock nudges right up against his balls and his entire body feels strung tight and over sensitive. Harry’s hot against him, all that skin sweat damp against his own and he tilts his hips back trying to get Harry where he wants him most. 

"How do you want to do it?" Harry breathes. "Like this? We can fuck like this if you want.” Harry’s working up a rhythm that has them both breathing hard. 

Zayn shakes his head. This is good, he could come like this, knows he might the second Harry pushes inside but he wants to _see_ and he wants more than just a quick fuck at this point, desperate as he is to come. 

Zayn pushes to his hands and knees and Harry lets him, bigger than him but always giving over to Zayn. "On your back," Zayn tells him and waits, sitting back on his haunches with his hand loosely wrapped around his cock, a reassurance that it's going to finally get what it wants. 

Harry lies back up against the pillows with his hair fanned out and all that gorgeous skin on display just for Zayn. After three weeks there are a dozen things Zayn wants to do to Harry, do _with_ him but right now all he wants is to get Harry deep in him and make them both come. 

Harry's gotten the lube from the side of the bed and he's stroking himself with a palmful, getting himself slick and wet. Zayn watches him, his long fingers wrapped around his thick cock and the way the muscles in his stomach flex with the effort of holding himself back. 

"No condom," Zayn says as Harry reaches for it. There’s no need, not for him. He hasn’t been with anyone since he and Harry started fucking without condoms and despite their unspoken agreement, it’s a test. But Harry doesn't hesitate, just lets it drop to the side of the bed and Zayn's relief feels huge and overwhelming. He straddles Harry's hips, palms flat on his chest and kisses him hard, tongue licking into Harry's mouth and Harry's lube slick hands gripping his arse, bringing him right down into the cradle of his hips, cock rubbing right up against Zayn's balls. 

It feels like he could say it now. He could whisper it into Harry’s open mouth, hide his face in Harry’s throat and push the words into his skin. But he doesn’t, all the things he wants to say caught in his throat. 

He settles for saying, “I fucking missed you,” right up against Harry’s lips which makes Harry gasp and fuck his hips up hard, trying to get the slippery, slick head of his cock inside Zayn. 

Zayn kisses him again, biting Harry’s lip for the way his hands tighten on Zayn’s thighs and the rough, almost helpless moan that slips out. He balances on his knees on either side of Harry’s hips and raises up enough, one hand behind him to grip Harry’s cock and hold him still as he lowers himself, the blunt, thick head of Harry’s cock pushing at him. 

"Go slow," Harry says, voice tight, teeth clenched and Zayn ignores him, his thighs trembling and his head back as he sinks down. Fuck it hurts. Harry's fucking huge and it's been a few months since the last time Harry fucked him with more than fingers and their little bullet vibrator pressed up tight against his balls. 

Zayn rises up until the stretch isn't quite as intense, just the head of Harry's cock in him and opens his eyes to watch Harry as he catches his breath and let the ache ease up. 

Harry’s holding himself still and Zayn can see the toll of it, the way Harry’s thighs strain beneath him and the muscles in his torso pulled taut with the effort of holding back. 

Zayn digs his teeth into his bottom lip, leans his weight on his palms flat on Harry’s chest and skins down, gasping as Harry goes so fucking deep. 

“Zayn,” Harry gasps and Zayn can feel how close Harry is, all the build up and foreplay catching up to him. 

“Fuck me,” Zayn mumbles, shoulders slumped and chin against his chest. His cock’s curved up against his belly, pre-come dripping onto Harry’s belly and that’s so fucking hot Zayn’s so close to losing it. “Go on, babe,” he whispers and shakes apart as Harry fucks him hard, pressing bruises into Zayn’s thighs. 

Zayn’s thighs are aching and he’s exhausted, can’t hold himself up anymore. The angle is almost too intense when he falls forward until he’s chest to chest with Harry, but like this the muscles in his thighs don’t scream out quite as loud and he can kiss Harry and feel him deep. 

Zayn knows what Harry’s going to ask the second he feels him pull away and Zayn just shakes his head, fingertips covering Harry’s mouth. “You can,” he breathes out, “go on, H, come in me.” 

Harry makes a sound like a laugh and wraps his arms around Zayn’s back, holding him close as he fucks Zayn a little harder, hard as he can with Zayn’s weight on him. 

The first pulse of come makes Zayn shudder and he bites Harry’s lip to keep from crying out. It always takes him by surprise how hot it is, fucking without a condom, the way Harry’s jizz feels in him. They do it the other way more often than not, Zayn fucking Harry bare and getting off on how much Harry loves it. Zayn likes the way it makes him feel, like Harry’s marking him up from the inside. 

Harry wraps both arms around Zayn and sits up abruptly, his cock slipping out and leaving Zayn feeling sore and empty. Zayn’s confused for a moment, not understanding until Harry settles Zayn on his back, pushes his thighs wide and fucks two fingers right up into him. 

“Yeah,” Zayn sighs, fucking his hips down and hissing in pleasure when Harry’s fingertips find his prostate, rubbing at it with steady pressure that makes Zayn think he could come like this. But Harry doesn’t let him try. He takes the tip of Zayn’s cock between his lips and sucks hard at it like he’s nursing it and the thought is so fucked up Zayn jerks suddenly, convulsing and comes hard in Harry’s mouth. 

Harry sucks him through it, lips a tight seal around Zayn until Zayn has to push him off, wincing at how sensitive he is. Harry pulls his fingers out and wipes them on Zayn’s thigh which makes Zayn roll his eyes and kick out half-heartedly, connecting with Harry’s knee. 

“Hey,” Harry says, wounded and flops down on top of Zayn with a yawn. 

Zayn can’t form thoughts let alone words to say out loud. He’s well fucked, beyond exhausted and there’s a knot of emotion tight in his chest. Harry’s got his eyes closed and a goofy smile on his face that means he’s only thinking of falling asleep. 

Zayn’s legs are unsteady beneath him when he gets up. He won’t be able to fall asleep unless he gets cleaned up and Harry’s not going to be any help, always useless after a good orgasm. 

“Don’t go,” Harry mumbles without opening his eyes, reaching for Zayn. 

Zayn smiles and bats his hand away. He leans over and kisses Harry quick, mouth closed, just a promise of more later. “Going to clean up,” he says and Harry hums and lets him go. 

Zayn cleans himself up in the bathroom. He’s sore from the inside out and his body aches in the oddest places, the backs of his thighs, his shoulders, his stomach muscles. He gingerly cleans himself up in the shower, a flannel between his thighs as he washes Harry’s come out of him. His cock is half hard still, between his thighs. 

Zayn comes back into the bedroom with the light outside softening to a pre-dawn grey. Harry’s sitting against the pillows, looking an alarming mix of well-fucked and adorable, waiting for him. 

Zayn climbs up over him, half in Harry’s lap. He thinks if he waits for the right time, the perfect time, it’ll never come. He’s as sure as he’s ever going to be, as he’s ever been. It doesn’t feel quite as scary in this moment, the intimacy between them and everything that’s happened leading up to this. 

Zayn takes a breath and says, “I love you.”


End file.
